Free Ripped by Lisa Edward Page B

dancer—hell, it took me a couple of weeks to get over my jealousy at just how good you are—but you’re new to this game. You’re an unknown and will remain an unknown for the rest of your life unless you play the game.”
    “But I have a boyfriend. I can’t.”
    She cocked her head to one side. “Do you really think he cares? If anything, that makes you more of a challenge and eventually, more of a triumph.” She gave me a sad smile. “Just flirt with him a little. As long as you’re never alone with him you’ll be fine, and I’ll make sure I never leave your side.” She slung one arm around me. “Come on, we can’t stay in here all night.”
    I had no choice but to take up my seat at the end of the booth. The other girls and one token guy were doing another shot as we sat down, and Pierre lined up three glasses in front of me on the pretense that I needed to catch up. As the chorus of ‘Drink! Drink! Drink!’ chimed around me, I slammed down two in a row, took a mouthful of water, then downed the third. At least my throat wasn’t burning anymore; it had gone numb somewhere between the third and fifth shot. My head, however, was humming, and I was finding it difficult to concentrate on any of the conversations that were buzzing around me. I wished we’d eaten before the drinking had started. We’d been dancing all day with only short snack breaks in the morning and afternoon. My stomach that had previously been empty was now filling with alcohol.
    “Jasmine, mon cheri , are you all right? Shall we go?” Pierre’s hot breath brushed my neck as he spoke far too closely to my ear. I thought he’d been speaking to me for quite a while, probably half in French, and had finally realized that I wasn’t paying any attention.
    “Mmm, yes, I’m good.” The music that had been playing softly in the background had been turned up, the bass vibrating through my chest and into my head. “I want to dance.” Not waiting for Pierre to move, I clumsily climbed over him, almost knocking him from his chair in the process.
    “Tiff.” I grabbed her arm, interrupting the conversation she was leaning into. “Let’s dance.”
    Tiffany and the girls she’d been speaking to all slid from the booth and to their feet. There was a tiny dance floor in the middle of the bar with a few people already dancing, but as I looked around I realized that most of the dancing took place on a balcony that stretched around the perimeter of the room. On wobbly legs, we scaled the iron staircase to the balcony and found ourselves a place where the four of us could fit. As this was a bar that dancers frequented, there were no timid girls quietly bopping on the spot to the music. People were dancing, really dancing, and it made me giggle. It reminded me of a scene you might see in the musical Fame .
    My giggles wouldn’t stop until they turned into hiccups.
    Giggle, giggle hiccup! Giggle, hiccup!
    “I think I need to vomit,” I said to no one in particular.
    Firm hands grasped my hips from behind as the grinding music made my head thump.
    “I need to …” God, it was hot. Not a dancing-too-much hot—a clammy, sickly hot. “Oh, no.” I took one step forward, about to make a break for the bathroom, when the same firm hands that had attached themselves to my hips spun me around. “Pierre …” A stream of hot liquid erupted, spilling all down Pierre’s lovely Louis Vuitton white shirt. “Oops!” At least his hands were no longer on me as they flew from my body, and he sprung back. “Sorry, I …” Another wave hit me and this time landed on his Valentino loafers.
    My head spun as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
    “Let’s get you some fresh air.” Tiffany steered me from the balcony and between the three girls, they managed to get me down the staircase without incident. As soon as we stepped through the door and the freezing air hit me, the buzzing in my ears lessened. The cold air helped the fog lift, but I